


I'll sit here with no regrets

by retts



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: First Time (in jail), Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, a little bit of angst?, codeine: painkillers, enjolras is in jail a lot, exr are soulmates, funtimes, grantaire pines like a forest, i dunno, i wrote les mis again, is awesome, let's make victor hugo roll over in his grave, my attempts at humour, they are in jail, they're even next to each other on the keyboard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 08:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1598903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retts/pseuds/retts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Grantaire falls asleep with Enjolras isn't on the sofa while they're watching a film, or on the floor as they study, or, sweet baby Jesus, in <i>bed</i>.</p><p>They're in jail, actually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll sit here with no regrets

**Author's Note:**

> i have a thing where kill me with feelings, angsty fandoms makes me write the fluffiest darned things while the exact opposite happens to happy, rainbow fandoms. ah the illogical brain.
> 
> i don't know how to jail. sorry. 
> 
> **warning** : brief codeine use as painkillers. 
> 
> written for the first time/last time spot on my trope_bingo card. (i'm so happy to be writing again)

 

 

The first time Grantaire falls asleep with Enjolras isn't on the sofa while they're watching a film, or on the floor as they study, or, sweet baby Jesus, in _bed_.

They're in jail, actually. The already angry protest had turned into a violent riot and Grantaire had the awful luck of being nearby when the police caught Enjolras. Well. Okay. That's a total lie because Grantaire had purposefully stayed just a few steps behind Enjolras to make sure nothing happened to him.

Which reminds him --

'I told you, didn't I?' Grantaire says as he watches Enjolras pace back and forth like an extremely agitated lion scenting blond.  And Grantaire is in the cage with it. It's a good thing Grantaire has such a deeply ingrained sense of self-preservation. (Hahaha.) Grantaire goes on: 'Seriously, didn't I say that a protest now would just be asking for trouble, with the tension still in the air? They just brought in Lamarque four days ago!'

Enjolras honest to god snarls at him and no one should still be that attractive while baring teeth. If Grantaire isn't in love with him so much that it's actually killing Grantaire a little bit day by day with every cold and indifferent word that passes out of Enjolras lips about how Grantaire is a good for nothing drunkard then he'd probably --

There is no good way to finish that sentence because Grantaire figures he's fucked in every alternate universe where there is a Grantaire and an Enjolras within five metres of each other.

It's pretty fucking depressing.

Enjolras slams his palm against the bars and they judder noisily. 'We can't simply stand by while they take a perfectly innocent man into custody and withhold him his rights!'

Grantaire snorts. 'Lamarque is a domestic terrorist, Enjolras.'

'He's a revolutionary!' Enjolras snaps.

'Who hacked into the government, stole federal secrets, and blew up a car.'

'That car belonged to a crooked politician who was selling military arms to warlords in Africa! No one even died! And it was never conclusively proven that Lamarque was responsible for those events.'

Grantaire sighs at him. 'Yeah, Apollo, I'm not saying that Lamarque isn't a hero or what the fuck ever you call it these days; just that you were crazy to stage such a public protest when it hasn't even been confirmed that he's being illegally kept by the authorities.'

Enjolras pivots sharply on his heels and gives him a glare just as piercing. 'My sources are very reliable, thank you very much,' he says, sounding highly offended. The bruise on his cheek is stark on his pale face, hair dishevelled and flecks of blood clinging to the curls by his ears. The sight makes Grantaire's stomach clench in anxiety, fingernails dragging against the steel bench as he closes them into fists. His own ribs twinge in pain but they don't matter because Enjolras got _hurt_ and Grantaire hadn't been quick enough to prevent it.

'I'm sure they are,' he says, not really attempting to soothe with the amount of sarcasm dripping from his voice, and Enjolras scowls at him before turning around and furiously rattling the bars.

'Jesus fucking Christ,' Grangaire swears as he gets to his feet, grabs the back of Enjolras' jacket, and hauls him down onto the seat. 'Are you trying to get thrown into prison? Real prison where they eat pretty little things like you for breakfast? If so, then I'll gladly give you up to them.'

Enjolras shoves Grantaire away with more strength than he's prepared for, and Grantaire hits the wall with a pained grunt.

'Fuck,' he wheezes, palm pressing low against his left ribcage.

Blue eyes narrow at him. 'Are you hurt?' Enjolras demands angrily but his fingertips are surprisingly gentle as they seek the tender spots under Grantaire's hand. 'Why did you even get involved?'

Grantaire would dearly like to push him away as easily as he'd been shoved, but he's always in favour of Enjolras touching him. (So, _so_ pathetic.) 'Because I like getting kicked in the ribs; it makes me hot,' he deadpans, then suddenly snaps, 'Why do you think I did it, you idiot?'

'I can take care of myself,' Enjolras says archly, 'but obviously you're the one in need of a minder. Didn't anyone ever tell you _not_ to jump on people twice as big as you are?'

Grantaire scoffs. 'Didn't anyone ever tell you _not_ to call the law enforcement brainless puppets of the government?'

The flinty look is back in Enjolras' eyes and he takes his touch away (Grantaire tells himself to fuck off for instantly feeling bereft). The blond boy doesn't look away from Grantaire as he pushes back the tendril of hair that's freed itself from his bun and is hanging in front of his face.

Enjolras takes a deep breath and says, 'Although you had no business being there, as you keep telling me that you don't care, I -- '

'Oh my God,' Grantaire cries and if his chest doesn't hurt like fuck then he'd throw his arms up in the air in sheer exasperation, 'I saved your life, you ungrateful cock!'

' -- _that's_ why I'm trying to offer my gratitude,' Enjolras finishes, eyes narrowing dangerously at him.

Grantaire blinks, suddenly deflating. 'What?' He shakes his head. 'No, you can't!'

'What?' Enjolras echoes, eyebrows twisting down. 'Are you saying I can't say thank you when you've just been complaining that I _wasn't_ thanking you?' He sounds completely outraged at this breach in his freedom to express himself. 

Despite the vexation on his face, Enjolras sounds as earnest as he always does when talking about his beloved causes, like that same sincerity extends to Grantaire himself. Grantaire isn't equipped to deal with positive emotion from Enjolras, not when it's for him. Panicking, Grantaire hastily backtracks, 'I mean, yes you can, obviously, that's your fucking prerogative, but there's no _need_ to thank me because I did nothing. I was useless. I literally tripped over the guy who punched you. And I do believe you when you say that Lamarque is in trouble even if there's nothing we can do because the government has all the power and that's unfair, but. Life. You know?'

Enjolras stares at Grantaire like he just butchered the French national anthem in front of him. Again. Eventually he says, almost like in defeat, 'I don't understand how your brain works,' and slumps wearily against the wall.

'I don't understand yours either,' Grantaire offers tentatively. He breathes out slowly and leans back to ease the pressure off of his ribs.

The corners of Enjolras' mouth tightens. 'Are you in a lot of pain?' he asks quietly, all anger and frustration gone; just simple concern left.

Grantaire can't help grinning inanely at him. 'I'll live, Enjolras.'

'It'd be better if you aren't suffering while living.'

'Nothing like bruised ribs to complete the whole being in jail experience. Besides, life is pain. _C'est la vie_.'

 _Finally_ , Grantaire spots the tiniest quirk of the other boy's lips. Then Enjolras sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. 'The others should be congregating at Combeferre's flat by now. They'll notice that we're not there and freak out.'

'Could you not use words like congregating? It makes you sound like a priest. It's messing with my mental image of you.'

Enjolras shoots him another glare. Grantaire collects them like other people collect stamps. 'We need to call them so they won't worry too much, but they probably won't be able to pool enough money to bail us out before tonight.'

'You really are an old hat at this, aren't you?' Grantaire comments idly. He's found a position that isn't hell on his injury and gives him a brilliant vantage point of Enjolras' face.

Enjolras crosses his arms. 'You have a record now too.'

'Yeah, it's pretty exciting. I'm living on the wild side.'

The other boy shakes his head at him. 'Don't you take anything seriously?' he asks, faintly amused.

'You, of course,' Grantaire says, completely truthful, but Enjolras just rolls his eyes at him.

'Maybe you're concussed as well as bruised,' Enjolras speculates, and suddenly he's leaning in close, way too close; Grantaire can see that Enjolras is even more flawless from this distance, which is practically non-existent. His heart slams against his chest and that's an entirely different ache from his sore body. Enjolras checks Grantaire's pupils for uneven dilation while Grantaire tries to memorise the star-burst pattern of blue, aqua, and crystal around the pinpricks of black that make up those beautiful eyes. Enjolras' eyelashes are fairer than his hair and curls softly, casting the faintest shadows on his cheeks. Grantaire breathes in, intoxicated by Enjolras' proximity, and catches a whiff of citrus and clean sweat. His tongue drags across his bottom lip unconsciously.

Enjolras abruptly pulls back, eyes shuttered. 'Joly is going to have a fit when he sees you,' he says after clearing his throat.

Grantaire tries to calm himself. Popping a boner when they're in jail seems highly inappropriate. 'Yeah, well, your face,' he retorts, or tries to, but it falls weak and flat.

'What's wrong with my face?' Enjolras asks, reaching up and brushing against exactly where the bruise is. He winces but doesn't stop lightly pressing down on it, like he can't quite believe it's there and maybe he can make it go away if he just keeps touching it.

Grantaire reaches out and stops him, his homely fingers curling protectively around Enjolras' wrist. 'Don't,' he says roughly, 'you'll hurt yourself even more.'

They look at each other, both unable to move, until Enjolras' twists his hand and Grantaire lets go. Before an awkward silence can descend on them, the outer door opens and one of the booking officers enter the holding cell, his face an odd mixture of scowl and smirk.

Enjolras jumps to his feet but Grantaire remains where he is, watching the officer warily.

'I demand my one phone call,' Enjolras says imperiously.

Grantaire inwardly groans; Enjolras should really try acting a lot less _Enjolras_ in delicate situations like this.

The guard leans forward, lips twisted unpleasantly. 'Is that so? What if you've already made your phone call and nobody picked up?'

Grantaire grabs Enjolras' hand again just in time to stop him from storming forward. He can feel the furious tension in the muscles of Enjolras' hand. He tries to keep his face blank as unease coils in his gut. Grantaire has never been in this situation before but he could care less about what happens to him. Enjolras is a known troublemaker and has been in this very jail cell numerous times. The local police is all too aware of who Enjolras is. If anything happens -- Grantaire tightens his grip on Enjolras to keep him in place but also to remind him not to do anything crazy.

Enjolras' gaze flickers to him for the briefest of moments before they focus back on the officer. 'I would like my phone call,' he says softly but no less fiercely. His gaze never wavers.

The smirk falls from the officer's face. He takes out his keys and unlocks the gate. Grantaire has to force his fingers to uncoil and let go, before they curl back and dig into the skin of his palm. He doesn't take his eyes away from Enjolras as he walks out of the holding cell.

The guard blocks Enjolras' way and every muscle in Grantaire's body locks in place.

'Next time you're here, I'll make sure you rot,' the guard says under his breath, a clear threat.

 _Please don't do anything stupid,_ Grantaire prays to every God, real and fictional, that he knows but mostly tries his best to telepathically send it directly into Enjolras' brain. 

Even from where he's sat, Grantaire can see the way Enjolras' spine goes very rigid. His steps falter, head turning to the side so he can look the officer in the face. Grantaire isn't breathing, he can't, because if Enjolras does anything then he has to be prepared to leap up and help him, busted ribs or not. The officer is so close, and there's a fucking gun strapped to his waist, and even if Grantaire logically knows that he can't shoot Enjolras just for staring (belligerently) at him, logic doesn't stop the terror from wrapping cold hands around his heart and squeezing like it's a fucking stress ball.

But then Enjolras turns away, moves on, and the guard slams the cell door closed and stalks after him. It happens within the span of a few seconds but had felt like forever. Grantaire sucks in a shallow breath but there's no relief yet, not until Enjolras is back here with him, remonstrating loudly about the state of the government and the rife corruption in the very group of people who are supposed to ensure that justice is served. His foot taps on the floor and Grantaire chews viciously on his thumbnail, eyes fixed on the dimly-cast door where Enjolras went through.

When he's counted to a hundred and back, Grantaire mentally starts rehearsing all the insults he's going to tell Enjolras when he comes back. Once he's gone through that list and Enjolras still hasn't returned, Grantaire thinks up all the little jokes and anecdotes he's been dying to share with Enjolras for the past few months but never does because Enjolras hates his face and stays as far away from him as possible. When Grantaire starts going through the things that he wishes he could say to Enjolras -- _I can never be as good as you; I've been in love with you practically from the first time I saw you; I'm sorry that I don't believe in your causes; You'll never look at me and I'm glad, because I'm not good enough for you_ \-- is when the panic sets in because Enjolras has been gone for longer than a phone call to Combeferre would warrant. He stands up, ignoring the twinge in his chest, and presses against the bars and tries to peer through the glass window of the door. He thinks about shaking the bars, yelling for Enjolras, when the door swings open and relief rushes through Grantaire because Enjolras is stepping through, looking pissed off as usual. 

Enjolras catches sight of him. 'Everything alright?' he asks, arching an eyebrow like he'd just been for a stroll and not in a roomful of cops that would dearly love to see him suffer. 

'You took fucking ages, I thought you'd taken the police station hostage,' Grantaire quips, his emotional defences kicking in now that he knows Enjolras is safe. 

Enjolras rolls his eyes and but says nothing as the guard, a different one this time, looking bored rather than antagonised, opens the cell door. Enjolras waits for the officer to leave before he turns to Grantaire and opens his fist. 'Here,' he says, offering up his palm, where a small white tablet is resting, 'take it. They wouldn't even give me water, the bastards.'

'Oh.' Grantaire stares at the tablet with round eyes. He carefully picks it up between thumb and forefinger.

'It's not much, probably won't help with your ribs, but they refused to call a medic. God, I can't believe the safety of the people rests in the hands of these assholes who had to resort to bribery before they'd even give me a fucking codeine!' Enjolras kicks at the bars and then hurls himself onto the bench, his head thrown back as he scowls fiercely at the ceiling.

Grantaire's gaze snaps to him. 'Bribery?' he asks tightly. 'Did you procure this with blood money, Enjolras?'

Enjolras snorts humorously. 'No protests for the next few weeks, more like.'

' _What?_ ' Grantaire stares at Enjolras in horror. 'That's -- can they do that? Please tell me you're joking. This is absolutely the worst time to develop a sense of humour, Apollo.'

'I'm being perfectly serious.'

Grantaire's brain refuses to process. 'But what about Lamarque? You just said you can't sit idly by while they cart him off to some underground torture bunker or something.' Grantaire goes over to Enjolras and holds out the pill. 'Here, give this back. Fuck, I can't believe you said yes to this, it's so fucking dumb.'

Enjolras gives him a withering look. 'Drink it, Grantaire. It won't help much but at least you won't feel even worse tomorrow. Trust me, I've listened to Joly give this lecture more times than I've actually been arrested.'

'But -- ' _helping me feel better rather than go shouting your truths to the world?_ Grantaire doesn't know how to feel about this. He's happy, of course he is, because Enjolras is acting like he cares about Grantaire, and Grantaire knows that Enjolras isn't a bad guy. Fuck no, the complete opposite; he's the best person Grantaire knows but only to _other_ people, not to him. It's not even Enjolras' fault because Grantaire is a pathetic excuse of a human being.

Enjolras rubs at his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. 'R, just, please, drink it? It'll make you feel a little better. And sit down, for God's sake! I don't need you suddenly falling over because you can't breathe.'

Grantaire sits. 'I'm only a little bit bruised, not bleeding into my lungs. I listen to Joly too, you know.'

'He'll be thrilled to know,' Enjolras mutters and he tilts his head sideways, still resting against the wall, so he can stare threateningly at Grantaire until he pops the tablet into his mouth and dry-swallows it. Enjolras grunts, satisfied. He closes his eyes. 'And it's not like there's nothing else I can do to inform people about Lamarque. More people pay attention to the internet and don't forget as easily. I'll definitely give them something to talk about.'

A vicious grin slowly spreads across Enjolras' beautiful face, his eyes still shut, and Grantaire shivers, desperately wanting to trace the curve of that lush mouth.

He doesn't, though.

The codeine kicks in an hour later, making him sleepy but doing fuck all to soothe the ache in his sides. The weariness blurs his perception of the pain, and Grantaire is grateful for small mercies. He keeps the big one, Enjolras' unexpected kindness, close to his heart, proof that maybe, just maybe, Enjolras doesn't dislike him as much as Grantaire thinks.

Beside him, Enjolras is quiet and still, probably planning the downfall of his enemies in creative and excruciating ways. They're right next to each other, close enough that Grantaire can feel the faint hint of warmth along his side. It's not comfortable because they're in a holding cell, sat on a hard steel bench, but Grantaire still starts to nod off. He blinks and jerks back when he sways forward, and Grantaire presses a heel to his eye and grimaces. He doesn't need to peek at Enjolras' watch to know that it's a bad hour to be awake and sober. God, he could really use a drink or twelve right about now.

'You should rest, R,' Enjolras speaks up quietly as he draws his foot up on the bench, resting an arm on his knee. Grantaire stares at his profile and inwardly gives a soft, heartsick sigh.

'I could say the same to you.' Grantaire shifts his shoulders to find a more comfortable space of wall and winces when the muscles over his chest pulls at the movement. He closes his eyes and gives a lopsided smile. 'I am never going to get myself beat up ever again.' 

'Don't come to any more of our demonstrations, then,' Enjolras retorts but there's no bite to it. His voice is low and so, so soothing; Grantaire lets it pull him deeper into his exhaustion.

'Can't,' he mumbles, already half-asleep, ''cause I need to keep an eye on you. You attract trouble, Apollo.'

'I really don't need your patronisation,' Enjolras says, and he sounds far away.

'S'not that -- '

'Then what is it, Grantaire? Why do you keep showing up?'

Grantaire exhales softly, falling asleep. 'Because I -- '

 

 

 

Waking up brings with it pain and fucking God, what had he done last night? Thrown himself in front of a lorry? Grantaire groans as he curls a hand protectively over his side where the pain is greatest. He keeps his eyes tightly shut, breathing through the agony until it becomes bearable.

What the fuck happened yesterday?

Grantaire tucks his face away from reality for a moment and something tickles his cheek and nose. Suddenly he smells oranges. His lips brush against something soft, warm, and Grantaire pushes his face deeper into that comfort.

'Hmm,' he mumbles sleepily. His other hand twitches and he feels fingers squeezing his gently.

That's when Grantaire starts to remember.

He freezes in place, face still tucked into that warmth which turns out to be the curve of _Enjolras' neck_ , fuck. He lets out an involuntary gasp, puff of breath ruffling the yellow curls falling over Grantaire's face. It smells like sunlight and a day's worth of exposure to the outside world, but underneath it is the faint perfume of oranges. Then, on his next inhale, Grantaire can smell _skin_ and God, Grantaire sounds like a serial killer right now. He wonders if Enjolras is awake, if he's been awake the entire time that Grantaire's been nuzzling and cuddling him. He feels hysteria bubbling low in his throat. The last time someone had fallen asleep on Enjolras, the unfortunate sod had become intimately acquainted with the hardwood floor the second Enjolras had become aware of the unapproved snuggling; Marius still whimpers whenever Enjolras sits next to him during movie nights.

Grantaire swallows heavily, ignores the tinny voice in his head that whispers he really should just linger there (hopefully forever), and carefully pulls his face away, holding his breath because sniffing Enjolras is completely out of the question. Something stops him from moving too far and that something is the hand clasped in his, fingers loosely intertwined.

'Oh,' Grantaire mutters to himself, feeling like he's been kicked in the stomach again. His eyes focus on the way their fingers are placed, acutely aware of each point of contact between their skin. Enjolras' thumb is curved inward, the tip just barely brushing the centre of Grantaire's palm. Enjolras' knuckles look raw from yesterday's riot. Each finger is well-made just like the rest of him, long and thin, with tiny golden hairs sprouting from between the first and second knuckles. The rounded shapes of his fingernails are a healthy pink. He sears not just the sight of their hands into his memory, but how it feels to have the other boy's hand in his, so gently trusting that it makes Grantaire wish for things that he has no right to ask for.

The fingers twitch and Grantaire's eyes crawl up from their hands, to the gentle rise and fall of Enjolras' chest, to the inviting slope of his neck that Grantaire's nose wants to call home, before finally settling on that face. 

Enjolras is asleep. His features are soft in repose, mouth slightly parted, more yellow coiling tendrils sticking to his face while the rest fluffs up around his head. His cheeks are faintly flushed with sleep, and he would look perfect except for the bruise on top of his cheekbone, an ugly palette of blues and violets that makes Grantaire wish he could brush it over with the pink that colours the rest of Enjolras' face. Despite it, he's still exquisite and Grantaire can't help drinking in the sight of him, cataloguing the tiny details that he otherwise would miss when Enjolras is in motion across the other side of the room. Grantaire watches, transfixed, as Enjolras proceeds to be unbearably adorable: the other boy wrinkles his nose, blows his hair out of his face, mumbles nonsensically, and then sighs. He drags his hand up and rubs at his nose, only it's the one still holding on to Grantaire, and it's Grantaire's wrist that bumps against his nose instead. Grantaire makes a high-pitched squawk that he's fervently glad no one else is around to hear.

Pale eyelashes flutter open just as Grantaire snatches his hand away, heart going like it wants to give up on life right at this moment, and a second later Grantaire feels like he really must be dying when sleepy unfocused blue eyes turn towards him.

'R?' Enjolras murmurs, blinking, before he straightens up with a small yawn. His voice is rough with sleep, a low rumble.

Grantaire bites the inside of his cheek at the sound. 'Hey, Apollo. How was your sleep? Like the dead, right?'

The corner of Enjolras' mouth lifts up. His lazy eyes stare at Grantaire with fond amusement. 'You talk in your sleep, did you know?'

'What? I don't!' Grantaire instantly denies, having not expected that. 

'You do,' says Enjolras calmly, more awake now, but still with that look in his eyes that makes Grantaire's skin crawl, 'and you say the most interesting things.'

Grantaire knows he doesn't, he definitely doesn't talk in his sleep, except that he's never had someone who isn't arse-over-tits drunk passed out beside him before. And this is coming from the same _Enjolras_ who hadn't even blinked when Courfeyac had slipped on an actual banana lying on the side-walk. Grantaire decides to worry a little bit.

'Alright, what did I say, then?' he asks, trying for the shores of casual but ending up in a different continent altogether.

The other side of Enjolras' mouth quirks until it's a full-fledged smile. 'Wouldn't you like to know.'

Enjolras could be playing him. He glares at the other boy, searching for any sign that he's fucking with Grantaire, but there's nothing, just Enjolras' stupid face, slightly more open than usual. Okay. Worrying, he's definitely worrying now, and maybe feeling a small bit of dread. A large bit. Grantaire has secrets, delicate secrets that could topple nations when found out. He _has_ to know.

'Apollo, I swear to God if you don't tell me -- '

'Oi, you two,' the guard interrupts out of nowhere, slamming the gate open with an irritated nod of his head. 'Bail's paid, now get the fuck out of here.'

Enjolras jumps to his feet instantly and walks out of the cell. Grantaire follows more carefully.

'Seriously, Apollo, what did I say? Did I say anything? Are you taking the piss right now?' Grantaire demands as he dogs the other boy's steps, uncomfortably aware of the way every police officer in the floor is watching them. If Enjolras notices, he doesn't give a fuck as he strides across the precinct like he's the poster boy for justice.

Enjolras doesn't answer him.

They get handed their mobiles on their way out. Grantaire has fifteen missed calls and twenty messages. Enjolras has double that much (Grantaire peeks over the blond's shoulder). They're escorted out of the precinct and Enjolras takes in a deep breath like he's preparing himself to say something truly unfortunate that will land him straight back into that jail cell, but Grantaire grabs his arm and resolutely drags him out of the building to where their friends are waiting.

Only when they are in a safe distance does Grantaire call out, 'Thanks for letting us crash, it was really fun! You should bring out the pot next time, maybe that'll take away the sticks up your asses!'

Enjolras looks at Grantaire, his face lit up like juvenile insults towards the authorities is the key to his heart.

Grantaire ducks his head, feeling, of all things, shy. 'What? Drugs would have made that stay so much better.'

It's Joly who accosts them first. He hugs Enjolras and exclaims over the injury to his face, and then turns horrified eyes to Grantaire. 'Oh my God, I knew you were limping! I could see it a mile away!'

'You weren't a mile away,' Combeferre tells him mildly. Enjolras turns to him and starts grilling him about the events post-riot and for any updates on the situation with Lamarque.

Joly presses his fingers gently into the sorest spots on Grantaire's chest, expertly seeking them out. 'Fuck, how are you still breathing? And you slept in jail!'

Courfeyrac drives up with the car and they cram inside the old, busted up Beatle, Enjolras up in front, Grantaire in the back with Combeferre and Joly who is red in the face as he apologises for squeezing in next to him. They drive towards Enjolras' flat, where the rest of their friends are waiting after they'd lost a supposedly thrilling match of Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide on who would be going to the police station. Eponine had only lost her place because she'd gone up against Marius and his freckled fist, who had then lost to Joly and the hypochondriac gleam in his eyes.

'Joly, seriously, I'm fine,' Grantaire insists, smiling reassuringly to stem Joly's concern. 'Just a little sore, no worse than a pub brawl.'

'He got kicked multiple times by a man twice his size and strength,' Enjolras reports from the front, staring at his cell phone as he reads through his messages. Joly makes a gurgling nose. 'We need to stop by the chemist's for medicine and bandages.'

'No, we don't,' Grantaire counters, then blinks as Joly carefully leans down to rest his ear on his chest. 'Er, what's happening?'

'I didn't bring my stethoscope,' Joly explains. 'You might have pulmonary oedema. Do you have trouble breathing? Are you able to lie down flat without difficulty? Enjolras, was he coughing up blood last night? Shit, I have to check your peripheral circulation -- '

Grantaire turns to Combeferre and mouths for help. Combeferre snorts quietly but he takes hold of Joly by the shoulders and firmly pulls him away. 'He'll be fine, Joly. Like Enjolras said, all he needs are painkillers and bindings for his chest.'

'But Enjolras can't even take care of himself,' Joly points out despairingly.

'I resent that,' Enjolras snaps, fingers still flying over his touch screen.

'Doesn't make it not true,' Grantaire adds.

Courfeyrac laughs out loud and when the car stops at a red light, he turns around and grins blindingly at Grantaire. 'So! R!'

'You look crazy,' Grantaire comments. 'Doesn't he look crazy?'

Enjolras mutters under his breath.

'You are officially one of us now,' Courfeyrac announces and he leans down on the horn for a celebratory screech. The driver in front of their car flips them off with a hand thrust out the window.

Grantaire lets Joly take his pulse for the fifth time. 'Wasn't I already, as much as I hate to think of myself as marching besides you bright-eyed idealistic youths?'

Combeferre adjusts his already perfectly perched glasses. 'Courfeyrac is under the delusion -- '

'Shut up, it's not delusion if it's the truth!'

' -- that there is an unofficial requirement to become an official member of our unofficial group.'

'Sounds like you lot are running a funny business. Kind of like a cult.' Grantaire says idly just to see the way Enjolras bristles at his words.

Enjolras whips around in his seat and scowls at him, and his bruise is brought to stark relief by the clear morning light. 'Cults exist to exploit the gullible masses by offering false hope and salvation, while our goal is to fight the system and give the oppressed the basic rights denied to them, and while it is, admittedly, difficult and challenging, we do not labour under the pretense that it -- '

Grantaire is laughing so hard that he feels like he's going to break the ribs he's already injured. 'Oh my God, I was kidding! You make it so easy for me sometimes!'

A dull flush spreads over Enjolras' cheeks and he turns away after a cold glare. Combeferre coughs behind his fist, hiding his mirth. Joly peers intently at Grantaire's fingertips for any sign of cyanosis. 

'Don't antagonise him, R; he's your leader now,' Courfeyrac says, droll.

'I'll follow you to the ends of the world,' Grantaire announces theatrically, joking and heartfelt like he usually does, 'even behind the cold steel bars of a jail cell, O Captain!'

Enjolras casually flips Grantaire off over his shoulder.

'Which brings me back to my point!' Courfeyrac catches Grantaire's eye in the rear view mirror and grins worryingly.

'Have you even got a point?' Grantaire asks, refusing to feel nervous about that smile.

Courfeyrac winks at the same time Joly finds a particularly tender area near his armpit and pokes it. Grantaire yelps. Enjolras glances over his shoulder, eyebrow arched. Over all it feels like a bad omen.

Combeferre shakes his head. 'Don't forget to stop by the chemist's, Courfeyrac. We'll need markers too.'

Courfeyrac whoops. Enjolras hunches his shoulders and is practically stabbing at his smartphone. 'Leave me out of it; I've already had my first,' he snaps.

'But it _is_ Grantaire's first time. Don't you want to commemorate this momentous event?' Combeferre points out knowingly.

The following silence can only be described as malevolent. 

Grantaire watches all of them, bemused. 'I lost my virginity a long, long time ago, if that's what you mean,' Grantaire volunteers with a shrug. Then he replays Enjolras' last words in his head and his jaw drops and the world spins. 'Wait, hang on, what do you mean first -- you're not a virgin, Enjolras?' he demands, aghast, his voice going high at the end. 

The silence on Enjolras' end turns even more hostile. Joly and Courfeyrac burst out into laughter but Combeferre is more tactful as he limits himself to radiating amusement. 

'What? I'm so confused, and a little bit betrayed,' Grantaire admits. 

Joly prods Grantaire back down on the seat. 'You'll see, R. Now tell me, are you feeling alright? Your pulse has gone up and you're breathing faster than before. Oh God, we need to get you to a hospital.' 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_(coda)_

 

 

'Your poster of Robespierre is still freaking me out!' Grantaire calls out as he stuffs the rest of his rolled up socks into the third drawer. He glances at the poster and sighs. 'The first time we had sex here, I felt like I was defiling our motherland.' Of course, that hadn't stopped Grantaire from sucking Enjolras' dick until he couldn't even beg and then fucking him until they broke the headboard. His gaze flickers to the wall where the brand new one rests against, made out of thick carved wood with plenty of loops and curls within its intricate design; very convenient for all of their bondage needs.

There's no answer, which isn't surprising. This isn't the first time Grantaire has complained about the poster.

'We could put up a picture of the TARDIS if you want,' Grantaire muses out loud, placing his sketch pads into the topmost drawer of his bedside table, along with a colourful row of pencils. 'I know you secretly adore the Doctor, someone who deeply loves all of humanity and is uncompromising in his morals, even if you do bad mouth the special effects. It's British, what do you expect?'

Grantaire eyeballs the wall across the bed with resignation. Not only is Robespierre's smug face staring right at him, he is surrounded by other pictures of famous and relevant battles and revolts throughout history. Courfeyrac calls it Enjolras' _Shrine To World Domination_ , which is the fastest way to get him kicked out of the flat (the second fastest is any mention of Courfeyrac's ongoing narration of everyone's favourite bedtime story, _Enjolras the Cuddly Little Spoon_ ).

'Apollo!' Grantaire calls. 'Are you even still in the flat? I can't believe you're ignoring me when we're in the process of moving in together! Some boyfriend you are!'

Enjolras breezes into the room with his mobile pressed to his ear. He holds up a finger when he sees Grantaire. 'Yes, we're actually trying to get hold of Lamarque to see if he's available for a speech, but I'll be speaking on the pressing issues on immigration laws as well. If you have any more questions regarding the upcoming protest you may liaise with Combeferre since I'll be unavailable for a few days. Personal matters. Hmmm, yes, with my partner. I'm claiming madness as the reason why I agreed to move in together with him.'

Grantaire rolls his eyes and flops back down on the bed -- his side of the bed. He grins inanely at the ceiling. Grantaire has always favoured the left side and after the long months that they've been seeing each other (casually at first, and after all the trouble they both went to to try and make it seem like casual was working for them, their relationship had become very serious, very fast) it's now official: he's where he belongs.

The beeping of an ended call and the dipping of the bed prelude Enjolras crawling on top of Grantaire, his blond curls falling over his shoulders. He's unsmiling, as usual, but Grantaire has learnt how to read the landscape of Enjolras' face. The little creases at the corners of his eyes say that he's happy. The gentle bunching of his cheeks say that he's content. Grantaire reaches up and tucks a curl behind Enjolras' ear.

'Should I say "Welcome home"? Is that how this is normally done?' Enjolras inquires, lowering himself slowly until he and Grantaire are pressed together from hip to chest. The tips of their noses bump gently.

Grantaire shrugs. 'I don't know. I've never moved in with a boyfriend before.'

A smile flits over Enjolras' face. 'Neither have I.'

'A first for both of us, then.' _And hopefully the last. Please._

Enjolras hums thoughtfully as he winds a few soft black tendrils around his finger. 'You know, you do have me all to yourself for the next three days.'

'That's a lot of quality Enjolras time,' Grantaire agrees as he shifts his left leg in between Enjolras'.

'With great power comes great responsibility,' the other boy jokes, a rare case, made all the more precious for the obvious warmth in his eyes. 'Use it well.'

Grantaire grins and does just that.

A week later, Grantaire comes home to a post it note stuck on the refrigerator door saying Enjolras will be late but he'll bring dinner if Grantaire waits for him.

'Why didn't you just text me? Idiot,' Grantaire mumbles around his smile and he takes out his biro and draws a smiley face and a heart next to the elegantly looping _E_ at the bottom of the note. He goes inside the bedroom, shedding clothes on his way there. His mobile trills with Enjolras' ringtone -- _baby you light up my world like nobody else, the way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed_ \-- and Grantaire turns around to take it out of his bag when he sees it.

Robespierre is gone. Enjolras' Shrine to World Domination is gone. In its place are various sketches and flyers that Grantaire's done for _Les Amis_ over the past few years, a splash of colour and heartfelt slogans against the beige wall. In the middle of all of that is a plain wooden frame where their officially fake  _Amis_  mugshots have been placed, done for every member who lands in jail for the first time. Grantaire and Enjolras stand side by side, each holding a small plaque in front of their chests.

Grantaire's says: _I went to jail and all I got was this lousy mugshot_

Enjolras' says: _Enjolras was here (AGAIN)_

Grantaire is grinning widely in his photo while Enjolras is characteristically scowling and looking unimpressed at the same time. Grantaire remembers that day fondly now, the first of many they'll spend in a holding cell. Grantaire shouldn't be proud of that but he is.

His mobile rings again and Grantaire answers without taking his eyes away from the picture.

'R? Where are you?' It's Enjolras, and how had Grantaire ever thought of Enjolras as cold and distant? 

A smile starts at the corners of Grantaire's lips. 'I'm at home.'

'Ah.' There's an expectant silence and Grantaire is now grinning so widely that he's sure he looks deranged. ' _And?_ ' Enjolras prompts, impatient as always. 

'I love it,' he says in a rush, moving closer to peer at the photo. 'And I love you a truly ridiculous amount. I can't believe you took down your Shrine for me. What time are you coming home because I need to fuck you.'

There's an amused huff at the other end of the line. 'How urgent is this need of yours?'

' _Very_.'

'Then I'll be there as soon as possible.'

'Can't wait.' Grantaire reaches up and traces Enjolras' scowl, immortalised forever. His fingertips press against the cool glass. 'Come home soon.'

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> lol this gained about 4k more words than i originally planned, plus a time jump and an actual relationship ending. [this](http://clarespace.tumblr.com/) is my tumblr, come on over and lets cry over dead revolutionaries in love, ask me headcanons, give me prompts :)
> 
> feedback is always appreciated! :)


End file.
